


The Book

by Macremae



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coming of Age, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mean Girls References, Slow Burn, because this is mean girls but not, gratuitous description of vanessa's fashion sense, the precursors are there but they're three humans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-13 22:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: At a house party two of them don't want to be at, Vanessa, Hermann, Newt, and Karla discover a book filled with all the cruelty a high school student can imagine. There's only one group who could do such a dastardly thing, and now it's time to take them down once and for all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betakids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betakids/gifts).



> this was inspired by a couple things: 1. betakids' college au fanfic that is the best portrayal of vanessa of all time. 2. the thank u, next music video. 3. mean girls. 4. my desire to write something with low stakes for once, and also a stress reliever from exams. the rape tag is for an insult in the burn book, not any actual rape reference or act.

Vanessa Valentine, age seventeen, homecoming princess three years running, and bar-none most fashionable female at PRHS, shoves her right leg into her True Religion jeans and falls to the floor of her messy-as-shit bedroom in a heap of Chanel No. 5 curls. 

“Fuck me running and shove a lamp up my ass!” she growls, and pulls at the cuff to wiggle her hobbit-sized foot through. From the bed above her, Hermann Gottlieb (GBF, valedictorian, seven-time nominee for Queer Eye) snorts and fails to help his truest and dearest friend as she struggles on the floor.

“I’m sure there are a variety of boys in our grade who would be more than happy to oblige,” he says dryly. Vanessa throws a boot at his head and barely misses.

“Number one: fuck you, I’m a lesbian. Number two, even if I weren’t! Even if I weren’t. I would not touch those sick incels with a ten foot pole.”

“And you think I would?”

Vanessa rolls her eyes so hard it hurts. “Uh, hell no. You may have zero taste in clothing, hair, books, movies, colleges, cologne--”

“Yes, _thank you_ Vanessa.”

“Wait,” she says, holding a finger up, “I’m not done. Pen colors, music, Instagram filters, really just social media in general, footwear, and lip balm flavor.”

He stares at her blankly. “The point being?”

“You also have terrible taste in gum.”

“ _Vanessa_.”

“Um. My point. Was.” She cocks her head. “What was my point? Oh yeah, my point is that you still have good taste in men.”

Hermann frowns. “How would you even measure that? You don’t like any of them.”

“Yeah, but I still know what an attractive person looks like. You can tell that I’m, like, literally gorgeous, and I can tell that you’re a seven out of ten on a really good day. Just because you’re not attracted to someone doesn’t mean you can’t tell if they’re pretty.”

She rolls onto her back and wriggles the jeans up her hips, kicking her legs in the air. The record player on Vanessa’s bedside table switches to the next song on _hopeless fountain kingdom_ and skips a few words as her back thumps down onto the wooden floor. Hermann looks at it nervously.

“You’re going to scratch all your records if you keep shaking it like that.”

Vanessa sucks in her stomach and buttons the jeans. “It’ll be fine. I dropped that thing down the stairs when I first got it and it still plays. You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount, thank you,” Hermann says primly. She sits up and reaches for the shirt hanging off her bed.

“Nope. Too much. Gives me a headache.”

“The only thing I’ve ever given you is a lifetime of friendship and a Glossier gift card last Christmas.”

She smiles brightly. “And I was so thankful for that! But you worry too much and if you keep doing that, you’re going to get stress lines.”

“Aging gracefully is not my priority, Vanessa.”

Vanessa pulls the top over her head and begins to undo the top buttons. “Whatever,” she says, and holds out her hand, “hand me the necklace that goes with this outfit, will you?”

Hermann looks over at her cluttered vanity, covered with makeup and at least sixteen pieces of jewelry. He appears almost afraid. “Which one?”

“The little gold chain that’s connected to the longer gold chain, and the long one has a heart charm in the middle.”

He gets up and paws around on the table until he finds the one she’s talking about, then hands it to her. Vanessa undoes the last button and clasps it around her neck, sticking out her tongue as she fishes for the hook. Exasperated, Hermann comes up behind her and bats her hands away.

“Let me do it, just pull back your hair.”

He closes the chain before stepping back and placing the boot she threw at him in her hand. She bends down and steps into both of them, then walks in front of the mirror and grins. “Nice.”

She’s done her hair in a braided side undercut and styled her baby hairs in little waves. Around her neck shines the necklace, the heart dipping just low enough to almost make an arrow to her cleavage (which is exactly the plan). The shirt is from Hollister; a striped short-sleeve button down that ties in a loose knot at the bottom and ends just above her high-waisted jeans. The boots are ankle and black, with little pom-poms for zippers that rustle as she walks. Vanessa turns to Hermann and puts a hand on her hip. “Tell me I look fierce.”

“No.”

She bats her eyelashes. “Pwetty pwease?”

Hermann sighs like the weight of the world is truly on his shoulders. In the flattest voice imaginable, he says, “You look fierce.”

“Aww, thank you! You’re such a sweetie. Now let’s get to you.”

He looks about to bolt like a frightened deer. “M- Me?”

Vanessa nods. “Yeah. My super rich godmother sent me a check for like, two hundred dollars, so I got some stuff for me, obvi, but I also got some cute stuff for you!” She walks over to her closet and pulls a handful of bags out, all from stores Hermann has never purchased from in his life. Carefully laying the clothes out on the bed, she reveals a printed button down, straight-leg jeans, a cable-knit sweater, and some plain black Vans. Hermann stares. “You expect me to wear that?”

She makes her eyes go all big and bright, and gives him a puppy dog gaze. “Just try it, Hermy. One night-- that’s all I’m asking. See how dressing like a person your age makes you feel! Who knows? You might actually like it!”

Hermann looks at the clothes the same way one might look at a particularly nasty bomb. “One night.”

“One night,” Vanessa repeats, and smiles. “Now hurry up and get dressed! We have a party to be better than everyone else at.”

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

Hermann thoroughly regrets this

The music is extraordinarily loud, everyone is drunk, and Vanessa has left him to go bump and grind with his sister. Not to mention he has just spotted the worst, most annoying, and utterly unbearable person in the world walking straight towards him:

Newton Geiszler.

Newton Geiszler has short, effortfully disheveled hair and and geeky black frames and more freckles than one could count. He wears band tees and tight jeans and Doc Martens that echo throughout the school halls like a cannon firing. He is only 0.05 points below Hermann in the class roster. He prefers the nickname, “Newt”.

Hermann cannot stand him. Mainly because Newton Geiszler is, first and foremost, a flirt, and has chosen Hermann to torment since the beginning of freshman year. For exactly thirty six months, four days, and seven hours, Newton has teased him, jokingly asked him on dates, and called him a variety of degrading nicknames that range from “Herms” to “baby” to, on one memorable occasion that still makes Hermann blush, “rosebud”. Hermann is constantly thirty seconds away from beating him with his cane. It’s become a habit.

“Hey, Hermann!” Newton shouts over the music, waving as he pushes through the crowd. He holds two cups of heavily alcoholic punch, and Hermann’s heart sinks as he realizes why. 

“Newton,” he sneers, lips curling like the Grinch who stole Chanukah. “As always, you seem to be right in the heart of every den of debauchery I am dragged to.”

Newton smiles and holds out a red Solo cup (and oh Lord, why must Hermann’s life be such a bloody cliche). “You know me, dude. Wherever the party goes, I like to follow.”

“Admirable,” deadpans Hermann, but he takes the cup because no one should ever be sober while talking to Newton Geiszler. The punch is horribly sweet and sticky on his lips, and he manages about two sips before giving up and just swallowing it all in one go. Newton whistles appreciatively.

“Didn’t know you lost your gag reflex. Why wasn’t I the first to know?” He winks. Hermann wants to strangle him.

“Because, firstly, everyone who has had a five minute long conversation with you knows that you do not have a penis. And secondly, the day I feel anything for you other than blinding rage is the day I take this cane and do a tap routine.”

Newton laughs, a crackly, bright noise that would sound annoying if it weren’t so horribly endearing. His eyes crinkle like party streamers. Hermann downs the dregs of his drink.

“So,” says Newton, leaning against the wall like (and really, Hermann cannot state this enough) a fucking cliche. “Where’s your pet Doberman?”

“Vanessa?”

“Yeah, I’d call her a chihuahua but she’d rip my head off. I assume she came with you, right?”

Hermann sighs. “She’s off somewhere French kissing my sister.”

Newton blanches. “Karla? I thought she was straight.”

“So did she. The day Vanessa asked her out, she buzzed her hair off, stole Father’s credit card, and bought up half the men’s section at Target.”

“Sounds pretty iconic if you ask me.”

“I didn’t. But I’m sure she’d be pleased to hear that.”

Newton sips his drink and glances out over the crowd. “What about you? Enjoying yourself?”

Hermann huffs out a sort of half-laugh. “You’ve latched yourself onto me well enough to know me, Newton. This sort of thing is not my natural habitat.”

“It’s so cute how you talk about yourself like a nature documentary narrator.”

“Please do not call me cute.”

Newton has the audacity to reach over, explode Hermann’s personal bubble, and boop his nose. “Nope. Cute.”

Hermann freezes. The only thing that manages to come out of his mouth in response is, “You booped me.”

With a devilish grin, Newton replies, “Huh. Guess I did. How you feel about that, Hermann?”

Hermann chokes up on his cane and is preparing to bring it down over Newton’s head when someone grabs his arm. Startled, he turns to see Vanessa’s bright red acrylics digging into his skin, and the rest of her body heaving and out of breath.

“Hermann,” she screeches over the thumping music, “come with me, now!”

Without waiting for an answer, she drags him across the room and up the stairs, heels thumping on the carpeted steps. Newton follows behind, probably out of his own blasted curiosity. They reach a hallway at the top of the stairs and Vanessa storms into the second room down it, making a beeline for the bed, which is covered with coats and purses. Karla is already there (looking suspiciously tousled) and staring at what appears to be a large, pink book with magazine letters cut out and pasted onto the cover. Vanessa snatches it out of her hands and shoves it at Hermann. “Look!” she hisses, “Do you know what this is?”

Hermann has enough knowledge of pop culture thanks to her to successfully identify the item. “The ‘Burn Book’ from _Mean Girls_?”

“Exactly! And everyone in our grade is in it!”

She takes it back and throws the book down on the bed, flipping the pages until she comes to one with her and Hermann’s yearbook photos glued down. Reading aloud, she says in a pitch perhaps only the dog outside can hear, “Listen to this: Vanessa Valentine is a stuck up dyke? Only I’m allowed to say that!”

Hermann peers down at the page and reads, “‘Hermann Gottlieb dresses like he’s trying to get arrested for sodomy during the second World War. Only good for copying off math homework.’” Despite himself, he feels a pang of hurt in his chest. “Who wrote this?”

“Oh, it gets fucking better. Newt, look what they wrote about you!”

Newton reaches over Hermann’s shoulder and flips the page. “‘Newton Geiszler:’” he says, “‘most likely to get raped by a girl.’” His face drains of color. “What the actual fuck?!”

“And,” says Vanessa, “they called Karla a hag, and Tendo Choi an f-slur, and Mako a ch-slur! Like, not only is this person racist, sexist, homophobic, and super ableist, but half the insults aren’t even spelled right!”

A tear slides down Karla’s cheek, and she wipes it away with the sleeve of her oversized sweater. “I- I just don’t understand who could be so cruel!”

Vanessa hurries over to her and pulls her in close, murmuring words of comfort. Hermann glances over at Newton, who is white with rage and staring at the book as if his gaze alone could light it on fire. He sees his friends (and Newton, who after this, is getting rapidly close to the title) upset and hurt, and feels a righteous fury boil in his chest. 

“‘Nessa,” he says quietly, voice like a stab wound, “do you know who did this?”

She looks up from petting Karla’s hair and nods tightly. “I have a pretty good fucking clue.”

Hermann closes the book and sets his jaw. “Then all of you listen closely: we are going to find them. We are going to make them pay. And we are going to make sure no one ever does anything like this again.” He looks around at the three of them. “Now are the lot of you in, or not?”

Newt swallows hard and puts a hand on Hermann’s shoulder. “I am,” he growls. “Let’s show this bastard just how dangerous the nerds can be.”

With a sniff, Karla nods. “I’m in too. No one has the right to treat any of you like that.”

Vanessa squeezes her hand and matches Hermann’s gaze with the reckoning of a thousand heavenly hosts. “Let’s fucking wreck this skank.”

And in that cramped bedroom, with a book full of secrets between them, the four friends swear a pact: the writer of the Pacific Rim High School Burn Book will pay dearly for their actions. And everyone will be there to watch them fall.


	2. Chapter 2

Vanessa Valentine, mocha drinker, daydreamer, and owner of the world’s most sticker-filled planner, screeches into the parking lot of PRHS with five minutes to spare before the bell, slams on the brakes exactly point two inches before the front of her car hits the parking bumper, and steps out of her 2015 Hyundai Azera with all the confidence of Gigi Hadid in a pair of Victoria’s Secret angel wings.

“One of these days,” says Herman, meeting her at the door and taking his coffee (black, two sugars, nothing else because Gottliebs hate fun) from the drink carrier, “you’re going to hit a pedestrian.”

“Not likely,” she replies, and takes a long sip of her Caramel Brulee latte. “Now c’mon. We’re gonna be late for class.”

“Since when have you ever cared about that?” Hermann asks, falling in step beside her as she walks to her locker. The combination is muscle memory by this point, and she flicks the door open and tosses her bag inside.

“Because, Hermann, if I’m going to get into NYU, my grades have to be at least fantastic. Besides, you have nothing to worry about, Mr. ‘genius top of the class’.”

Hermann goes a little pink at this but continues frowning. “I just can’t support your blase attitude towards your education. It’s important.”

“I don’t need an A in math to be a journalist.”

“Journalists need a strong general background, actually.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Boo, you buzzkill. Let me have my fun.”

“Vanessa, why do I get the feeling that if I didn’t pester you to study, you wouldn’t at all?”

“Because you’re the voice in my head that tells me to make healthy choices, and I’m the voice in yours that, like, tells you to have fun.”

“You’re a terrible influence on me.”

Vanessa gives him a dazzling smile and pats him on the head like a particularly ornery gerbil. “You love it.”

He walks her to class before heading off to AP Calc, and Vanessa gets all her sparkly gel pens and notebooks out before realizing she forgot to put on mascara. She raises her hand for the bathroom pass and hurries out the door a few seconds after the bell, the hallways filled with last-minute stragglers rushing to class. The bathrooms are empty when she gets there, and Vanessa manages about one coat of mascara before she hears three pairs of heeled footsteps arrive at the door. Like an uncharacteristic deer in headlights, she freezes.

“Oh shit,” says Alice Shrikethorn, framed in the doorway like a false angel, “pull down your skirts, guys. It’s dyke city in here.”

Her two friends, Raijin and Hakuja (twin Japanese exchange students, cronies extraordinaire, and frustratingly fashionable in Vanessa’s educated opinion) giggle like sizzling glasses of Pepsi, and Vanessa rolls her eyes. 

“Creative,” she drolls, glancing at their reflections in the mirror. “Calling me a slur and accusing me of sexual misconduct all in the same shitty insult. Really, Alice, your inspiration knows no bounds.”

“Look at how much I don’t care,” says Alice, walking up to the other mirror and adjusting her Tiffany charm necklace. Vanessa sighs, but decides fuck it, and goes in for the kill.

“How could I expect anything less? But then again, I’m just a stuck-up dyke, right?”

For the tiniest of seconds, Alice freezes. Then, the mask of perfection is back over her face. “Huh. Guess you found our little book, yeah?”

Vanessa crosses her arms and turns to stare at her smugly. “Oh, I found your ‘little book’ alright. Tell me, are you trying to be a high school cliche, or does it just come naturally?”

Alice runs her fingers through her bright red hair to fluff it up. “Maybe it’s Maybelline,” she quips. “But seriously, it’s a gift, babe. And don’t come talking to me about being a cliche when you’re literally the most airheaded ditz of a slut I’ve ever met.”

“Am I really a slut when I don’t even fuck guys?”

She smirks. “A true whore knows no gender.”

“Whatever,” says Vanessa flippantly. “I still know about the Burn Book.”

“That’s so cute,” says Alice, smiling like a 1000 degree knife. “But we’re not too worried about that.”

Vanessa raises a perfectly waxed eyebrow cockily. “Oh really? And why’s that?”

She huffs out an icy laugh. “Because you and your little sidekick are gay, right?”

“Yeah,” Vanessa replies, not seeing quite where this is going. “The whole school knows that.”

“Of course. But do they know how you two found that out?”

Vanessa’s stomach drops to her shoes. At the look on her face, Alice laughs. “Yeah, honey. We know. You fucked the cripple, didn’t you?”

She recovers enough to grit her teeth at the insult and stare them down. “Don’t call him that.”

“We’ll call him whatever the fuck we want you silver star lezzie. Because if you breathe so much as a whisper about that book, the entire school will know that Hermann Gottlieb and Vanessa Valentine fucked like little baby bunnies. And how do you think his dear ‘ole father will feel about that?”

Alice laughs again, and Vanessa feels rage boiling in her gut so fierce she can hardly contain it. The three girls give her one last look of absolute disinterest, then strut out of the bathroom in a whoosh of Marc Jacobs’ Daisy, leaving Vanessa trapped among the cold tile. She waits until the clacking of heels has faded, takes a deep breath, and slams her foot into the wall.

“Mother _fucker_!”

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

“So basically,” Vanessa finishes, waving her carrot stick like a baton, “we can’t strike ‘em unless we want everyone to know that Hermann and I did a very ill-advised monster mash.”

Hermann covers his face with his palm and tries to will his blush down to a more reasonable red. “Thank you, Vanessa, for telling both my sister, and Newton, every detail of my sex life.”

“Yeah,” says Newton, “as much as I would love to hear about things relating to Hermann and sex, that was not it. Gross.”

“Guy dicks are weird, okay?” Vanessa says defensively. “With girls it’s different because, like, there’s a girl attached to it, but with guys? What Newt said: gross.”

Newton gives her a fist bump, which Vanessa returns with a roll of her eyes. “What even happened?” he asks. Vanessa and Hermann share a look.

“Well…”

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

“Okay,” says Vanessa, pulling her shirt off and tossing it over the side of the bed, “we’re doing this. We’re gonna have sex. Cool.”

“Right,” Hermann affirms next to her, and carefully pulls one leg through his pants. “We are doing The Sex.”

She stares at him blankly for a moment, before shaking her head. “Did you just call it--? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Take your underwear off and lie down. I’m pretty sure that’s how it starts.”

Hermann frowns. “I thought I was going to be on top. I’m the man, right?”

“Wow, way to be sexist, Herms. I know more about this than you do, so I’m on top.”

He scoffs. “By a very small margin.”

“Do you want to get rid of our v-cards or not?” she asks, putting a hand on her hip. “I’m. On. Top.”

Hermann sighs, but lies down on his back and lets Vanessa straddle his hips. She pulls the stolen condom from her pocket and kicks off her jeans. “Okay. We’ll go really slow and be careful, yeah?”

He nods, and with the trepidation of an archeologist unearthing an ancient artifact, Vanessa pulls down his underwear. She freezes.

“Wait. That’s what a dick looks like in real life?”

A supremely confused expression spreads across Hermann’s face, and he looks up at her like a baby deer whose mother has just been shot. “Y-- Yes? Is there something wrong with it?”

Vanessa sputters. “I-- well-- no, there’s nothing anatomically wrong with it I guess, it’s just. Um. I didn’t know they looked like that up close.”

She’s red as a fire engine, and reaches out a finger to poke it. It’s hard, but feels like a rubber squeaky toy. Vanessa shrieks. “Oh, what the fuck? It’s bouncy!”

Hermann cringes. “They tend to feel that way? Vanessa, if you need a few minutes to get used to it--”

Vanessa takes one last, long look at Hermann’s dick, then bursts into tears. He goes pale and quickly pulls up his briefs to hide the offending appendage. “‘Nessa, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I can’t do this!” she wails, covering her face with her hands. “It’s so weird-- not that you’re weird or anything, it’s just dicks are weird looking and super gross and oh my God it smells terrible! Like Thai food gone bad!”

Hermann tries to feel insulted, or at least disappointed, but all he can muster up is a huge sense of relief. Vanessa’s breasts keep bouncing without a bra to hold them in place, and they’re starting to freak him out. He harrumphs. “Well you don’t smell any better!”

“I’m on probiotics you moron!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It makes my vagina produce weird discharge and taste weird! That’s a really big side effect!”

His eyes widen. “Why the bloody hell would I taste it?!”

“Because you’re supposed to eat me out once I’m done with you! It’s, like, common courtesy!”

“I HAVE TO DO WHAT?!”

Vanessa flops back down on the bed and muffles a scream. “Oh my GOD this is literally the worst idea EVER!”

Hermann pushes her off of him and fumbles for his pants. “I-- yes, I wholeheartedly agree!”

“Ugh!” She scrubs her face with her hands. “Hermann, no offense, but I think I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh thank God,” he says, giving a sigh of relief. “Vanessa, I believe I am also only attracted to the same gender. Let’s never speak of this again.”

“Agreed.” A beat, and then, “Now for fuck’s sake, where’s my bra?”

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

There’s a moment of silence at the table as Karla and Newton take this in. Hermann is back to his original state of blushing. Vanessa just looks annoyed. “So yeah,” she says blankly, “that’s how it went. Terrible for the both of us, not sexy in any way, shape, or form, and this will probably be the last time we ever speak of it again. Now you know.”

“Wow,” says Newt, looking like he’s just been punched in the face. “I don’t even have a witty comment for that. That’s just awful.”

“Good Lord,” Karla says, and awkwardly pats her brother on the hand. “I really do hope Father never finds out.”

“That’s the plan,” Vanessa replies, and smacks her palm down on the table. “Now. We need to find a way to get the word out about the Book while not implicating ourselves. Who’s got ideas?”

The rest of them are silent. “Oh for fucks sake,” she says, “nothing? C’mon, guys! We can’t just let them threaten us like that! Does nobody have a single clue what to do?”

Just then, there’s a loud commotion behind them, and the four friends turn around to see Liwen Shao (tall, dark, and utterly terrifying) verbally rip a freshman’s head off for bumping her lunch tray. Vanessa watches the sad scene for a few moments, before her eyes light up with an idea.

“Guys. Do y’all know a single person here who isn’t scared of Liwen?”

Newt shakes his head. “No way. The woman is a menace in impractically high-heeled boots. I wouldn’t fight her if you offered to pay my top surgery.”

Vanessa grins. “Okay. Okay. So if she, say, leaked a very incriminating volume of insults, no one would even dare to get back at her, right?”

“Oh no,” says Hermann, “Vanessa, don’t even think about it.”

“Karla, permission to seduce her if the need arises.”

Karla rolls her eyes. “Permission granted, but only once.”

“Thank you, baby.” 

“Vanessa,” Hermann insists, “please think this through before you--”

But she doesn’t listen. With that, Vanessa fluffs up her curls, drapes her off-the-shoulder top a little further off her shoulders, and walks over to where her target is standing.

From the table, Hermann watches their conversation with interest. Vanessa gets right up in Liwen’s personal bubble, an act which the other woman seems surprisingly alright with. They talk for a few minutes, Vanessa twirls her hair, and both return to the group’s table, Vanessa smiling.

“‘Kay,” she says, “so here’s the deal: Karla, if you’re cool with it, Liwen wants me to help her figure out the pros and cons of being a lesbian; aka eat her out.”

“For the third time,” says Newton, “gross.”

“ _Anyway_ , she knows you and I are dating, so there’s the alternate option of us just paying her three hundred dollars.”

Karla makes a face. “I don’t think any of us has that much money.” She sighs. “Give her a cost-benefit analysis and tell us the plan. I’ll do anything to take those bastards down.”

Liwen actually reaches over the table and shakes Karla’s hand. “You are welcome to join, if you wish. I don’t mind other variables being in the equation, and,” she gives Karla the once over, “I do not know if I prefer femme or butch yet.”

Karla reddens. “I. Well. Goodness. Alright, yes, I suppose that would be a bit preferable, yes.”

Vanessa claps her hands together and smiles. “Okay! Awesome! Lili-”

“Do not call me that.”

“Sit down, and I’ll tell you the plan.”


End file.
